


Loyalty

by laisserais



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coda, Drunkenness, Dubious Consent, Frottage, Loss of Virginity, M/M, theological discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laisserais/pseuds/laisserais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 'Brother's War,' Ragnar is feeling sorry for himself, and he turns to his priest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatotherperv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatotherperv/gifts).



> Episode coda to Vikings s02e01. (You guys, I am so excited that I am actually writing something! I think this is the very first canon compliant episode coda I have ever written. Woo hoo!) Written because Mel said.

**Loyalty**

* * *

 

 

Athelstan isn't sure what wakes him up, the nightmare or the crash.

He'd been dreaming of battle again; tonight he'd charged the gates of the monastery at Ragnar's call. Blinking blood out of his eyes, he'd watched the Abbott's face contort in disappointment as he twisted the sword into his belly. He kept shoving until the hilt got stuck. Ragnar had looked at him with approval.

Tacky with cold sweat, Athelstan hears another crash as goats complain and scatter. Ragnar is singing.

Scrambling from his pallet, he makes it to the door in time to see Floki dump Ragnar at the table. Aslaug sweeps in, tying her robe and looking bewildered; Athelstan hangs back.

"Here you are, my lady," says Floki. "Your hero, come home again. Although he fought bravely, I'm afraid he lost the battle."

"Battle?" Aslaug bends to peer into Ragnar's face.

"With the ale keg. It was a mighty struggle, but all mortals have their limits, I suppose."

"Aslaug!" Ragnar has the bleary grin of a drunkard. He lurches toward Aslaug, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into his lap. With a great belch, he begins to sing a children's nonsense song about the shield maiden Brunhilda.

"Good night, you who are blessed by the gods. May your rest be untroubled by doubt. May your houses be blessed with many children." Floki tilts toward the door. "And goats. May the goats bless and keep you." He makes it out on his second try, cursing the tree that provided the wood for the door.

"Ragnar! You are drunk and you smell like a dung heap. Release me." Aslaug struggles in Ragnar's grasp as he continues to sing, off key and at the top of his lungs, about shield maidens and their fickle loyalty.

When it's apparent that Ragnar isn't listening, Athelstan comes into the room. They both stare at him for a beat, as though remembering his existence. Aslaug goes from puzzled to appreciative when he insinuates his fingers between her wrist and Ragnar's grasp.

"She left me, Priest. She's gone. They've all gone." Abruptly, all the boisterousness drains away, and Ragnar begins to cry.

Athelstan lets him clasp his hand tight, and looks up at Aslaug as she stands. "Take him to bed, slave. He's drunk and I am not a nursemaid." Supporting her belly with both hands, Aslaug goes back into the bedroom and shuts the door firmly.

Which leaves Athelstan the unenviable task of getting Ragnar up the stairs. "Come on," he says, low and easy. "Let's get you sorted."

He heaves Ragnar up on one shoulder, and Ragnar lets him bear all of his weight. Athelstan stumbles at the first step, and they both nearly fall. There's no way he can get them both upstairs by himself, and Ragnar isn't helping, so Athelstan veers around the stairs, to where his bed is tucked into a corner.

"Here you go, old man." Ragnar goes down like a sack of rocks, and Athelstan shoves him onto his side to make room. Getting the covers over both of them, Athelstan closes his eyes, hoping for and fearing sleep in equal measure.

There isn't a moment of silence before the decision is made for him. "Priest," Ragnar says, in a tone Athelstan assumes Ragnar thinks is a whisper. "Priest, all my women are gone. And my boy's gone, too."

Athelstan turns to face him. Ragnar's eyes are red rimmed and almost translucent in the firelight.

"What of princess Aslaug? And the child she carries?"

Ragnar makes a sound he can't interpret, and wipes his face on Athelstan's sleeve. "I'm little more than a farmer to her. Jarl of a scrub patch. She'll soon grow tired of our rough ways." He tangles his hand in Athelstan's nightshirt and closes his eyes. After a moment, Athelstan thinks he's asleep, but then he says, "You won't leave me, though, will you? My Priest. My strange and loyal Englishman. You'll stay with me."

And isn't that the question? If they sail West again, if they let him come, will he fight by Ragnar's side? Will he kill his own people, to enrich the kidnappers who tore him from his life?

Ragnar opens his eyes again, looks his question.

"I'll stay," Athelstan says, even though he can't tell if it's a lie. Ragnar smiles at him, and drags him in close, until Athelstan can hardly breathe, he's squeezing so tight.

Athelstan's treacherous body starts to shame him with its reaction. From the night Lagertha had invited him to their bed--tempting or teasing, he'd never been sure--Athelstan had found himself wrestling with the demon lust. So many nights he'd lain here, in this pallet, listening to the animalistic noises as she and Ragnar rutted with abandon. He'd said feverish prayers for God to deliver him from sin, and he'd been good; he'd never sullied his flesh with unsanctified touch. But it had been torture, beyond anything he'd experienced at Lindisfarne. The sounds followed him into wicked dreams of flesh and need like burning, leaving him hollowed out and exhausted, sometimes too distracted to see to his morning work.

And now, with the solid warmth of Ragnar pressed close to him, it's as if all those prayers were for naught.

Athelstan tries to roll away, to get space between them, but Ragnar won't let go of him, and he ends up on top of Athelstan; laughter making his beard tickle Athelstan's throat.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Priest?" Ragnar wedges his knee between Athelstan's thighs and rests his weight on an elbow, pulling back enough to look him in the eye.

A horrible flush creeps up Athelstan's cheeks. "No," he says.

"No? Then what is this I feel between your legs?" Ragnar touches him there, rough and shocking. "It's stiff, like wood, perhaps you're smuggling a board in your trousers? Or maybe that is where you keep your secret Christian cross. Shall we see? Are you holding on to your superstitious faith, even still?" As he speaks, Ragnar's hands are tearing at the laces of Athelstan's trousers, and Athelstan tries to bat his hands away, tries to escape from beneath his weight, but Ragnar has a full stone of muscle over him, at least, and years of fighting.

When he is uncovered, all Athelstan can do is shut his eyes as his shame is revealed. Ragnar has stopped talking, stopped moving; it's quiet enough for Athelstan to hear the crackling of the fire, now deafening in the silence. He opens one eye. Ragnar is kneeling above him with an inscrutable look. He smiles.

"You hide yourself like a maiden. Are you ashamed of your ardor?" Athelstan's stomach twists into knots as Ragnar's eyes rake down his body. "Because believe me, you have nothing to be shy about."

"Please," Athelstan says, voice breaking. "Don't." Ragnar's taken his erection in his hand, stroking slow and tight.

"You want me to stop?"

A fever is burning him up; Athelstan is weak. Eyes clenched shut, he can feel tears escape. "It's a sin."

"Your god is a strange one, to call pleasure wrong. How can it be a sin, when we are made in the gods' image? Look at me, Priest. Athelstan, open your eyes."

At the sound of his name, Athelstan has to obey. Ragnar never calls him by his Christian name.

"You are mine now, aren't you? I took you away from your solemn and jealous god, and now your body is mine. Isn't that right?" Ragnar's fierce eyes are knives, flaying him open, insistent, determined to see Athelstan naked, even down to the core of him.

It's so warm, Athelstan can't think; he's surrounded by Ragnar, immobilized like a rabbit caught in a wolf's jaws. Such blasphemy. If the abbott could hear this, surely Athelstan would be cast out. If God can hear him, surely he is damned forever. "Yes," he says, faintest whisper.

And Ragnar's mouth crashes into his, open and greedy, his hands greedier still, tearing at Athelstan's clothing and his own, until they are both naked, and again Ragnar kneels between Athelstan's spread thighs, runs his hands from Athelstan's knees to his shoulders, and back down again. His mouth is swollen, and his eyes are clear as he looks down at Athelstan. He is haloed by the firelight.

"You have truly never given yourself to another."

It isn't a question, so Athelstan stays silent.

"How can it be? You are above twenty summers. Is this what your god demands of you?"

"Ragnar, please..." He doesn't want to speak of it. Doesn't want to think of God right now.

"And what of my demands? Will you obey them as faithfully?"

Mercifully, he doesn't look for an answer, just bends to kiss him again. Athelstan accepts it gratefully, shutting his eyes and following where Ragnar leads, wrapping his arms around Ragnar's back and holding on. The line of Ragnar's erection presses hard against his own, and it feels wicked. It feels like, maybe for the very first time, Athelstan understands what sin is. Because he has lust in his heart, now, and it is a fire that drives him. He needs more. More of Ragnar's kisses and more of his touch, more of the feeling of Ragnar's weight crushing him into the bed, their bodies sliding together. He digs his nails into Ragnar's back, and abruptly realizes that the noise he's hearing is himself. He's growling and grunting like an animal, like he's heard Lagertha and Ragnar so many times before. He can't contain it, and although another flush of shame washes through him, it doesn't dampen the feeling of need, like thirst and hunger and yearning for God, but more than any of those things. Athelstan _needs_ Ragnar to touch him more than he needs air to breathe.

He is moving with Ragnar, feeling the slide of Ragnar's cock along his own, the rough hairs on Ragnar's belly and the sweat slicking them both. He's thrusting up against Ragnar, swallowing the sounds Ragnar makes as he twists his hands into Ragnar's hair, holds him in place as he devours every breath, every moan, until it all rushes in, too much, and he spills over, gasping, eyes wide open, staring at Ragnar, who groans like he's dying, and buries his head in Athelstan's shoulder. 

Athelstan feels both of their release, feels the muscles contract and expand in Ragnar's back as he pants desperately for air. He is a heavy weight, but Athelstan can't imagine asking him to move.

For a long time, he stares at the ceiling, running his hands up and down Ragnar's spine, listening to the fire. Eventually he realizes that Ragnar is snoring, and he laughs at himself, for thinking that they were sharing a moment. He dumps Ragnar onto his side, and wipes down his belly with a blanket.

Then Athelstan tucks an arm beneath his head and contemplates.

He is further away from home than he'd ever imagined he'd be. As a boy, he'd been overwhelmed by the splendor of Lindisfarne. Little had he known, what sights he'd live to see.

So, too, is it with the people he has met. The strange ways that they live.

He'd given up on ever seeing his home again. Certainly he'd never again have the quiet life of contemplation that he had lived.

How is it to be? Here, with his scrub patch Jarl. The kidnapper who treats him like an equal. Now that Lagertha and Bjorn have gone, and beloved Gyda has passed, the family he had come to embrace is gone. What will keep Athelstan tethered to this place, when he is given the chance to be free?

He turns on his side, faces Ragnar, and watches his smooth face in untroubled sleep.

It is not a question he can answer this night.

[The End]


End file.
